


Wait What? (until I find a better title)

by WeirdAlterEgo



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Happy Ending, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, unbetaed hot mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28021035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdAlterEgo/pseuds/WeirdAlterEgo
Summary: “Robin? Are you available for an assist?”He sighs. This is not what he had in mind, but he isn't particularly picky. “Positive.”“RR was mobbed when he found a group trying to poison the Reservoir. As he stopped responding I need another set of eyes on the situation. Could you check on him?”He is shooting his grapple before he even replies “I’m on my way.”
Relationships: Tim Drake/Damian Wayne
Comments: 24
Kudos: 227





	Wait What? (until I find a better title)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is written for Spazzattack35's prompt.
> 
> I'd like to say Damian is 16. It was alluded time has passed since they were young, but... you know, just stating in case this isn't obvious.
> 
> (I swear, this thing was so hard to write. Damian, why do you have to speak Thesaurus?! Or worse.)

Robin surveys the Bowery from the top of a factory building, listening to his family’s chatter through his earpiece. Grayson and his Father are mounting a joint bust on a Gotham and Blüdhaven encompassing drug ring with Batgirl’s help. Drake and Damian have been left behind to mop up the excess, of which Gotham has no shortage of.

He had foiled a robbery, beaten up (apprehended) rapists and small-time drug dealers, even hogtied a man selling small arms from the back of his truck. He is considering patching in to Oracle to ask whether she has anything more exciting in store for him, but she contacts him first.

“Robin? Are you available for an assist?”

He sighs. This is not what he had in mind, but he isn't particularly picky. “Positive.”

“RR was mobbed when he found a group trying to poison the Reservoir. As he stopped responding I need another set of eyes on the situation. Could you check on him?”

He is shooting his grapple before he even replies “I’m on my way.”

Drake is lucky Damian was on the East End side of the Bowery, he thinks, as he drops down next to his fallen brother. He sees half a dozen downed men, some already tied, the others lying prone on the ground around the shivering form of Drake with their limbs thrown akimbo. There is nobody standing besides Damian, which would suggest at least one person got away.

He runs to the Reservoir to gather a sample, and then he goes back to tie up the rest of the men. Lastly he turns Drake around to assess the damage. "Red Robin?" he tries. He pats a soft cheek, and when that elicits no reaction, he slaps the man hard enough to snap his head to the side.

Finally, he hears a soft groan as the body below him makes aborted motions to reach out towards him.

“Red Robin, report,” he prompts, marveling at the red handprint he left behind on Drake's porcelain-white cheek while he scoots back from Drake's uncharacteristic informality.

Drake, though, remains worryingly silent. Damian sweeps the periphery of the park and makes the executive decision to peel the man’s mask back, leaning back over him to shield his face from recognition.

He jerks back instinctively as Drake stares up at him with his pupils blown so wide there is barely a sliver of blue left around the edges. Damian curses and pulls Drake’s mask back over and down his face, automatically rubbing the yellow dust that sticks to his gloves from Drake’s face on the grass next to him. It refuses to part with his glove’s surface, stubbornly sticking to it like…

Robinson Park. _Of course_. The Reservoir is right next to it.

He uses his clean glove to activate his communicator.

“RR is down. We have several people apprehended and bound at the scene. One or more possible runners. Possible contamination of the Reservoir. I’ve taken a sample. Once I gain entry to RR’s lab in his Nest I will analyze the sample and report back to you.”

“Does RR require medical assistance?”

Damian pats the squirming young man down, who grabs hold of Damian's gauntleted hand and pulls it down to…

He yanks his hand back like it’s been burned. “Negative. The fight appears to have strayed too close to Robinson Park and upset the rouge vegetation. I shall administer the antidote and deliver RR to the Nest. Once I locate RR’s transportation.”

“Understood. You will find his bike north of you, parked rather illegally among a few bushes. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be on standby.”

“Understood.”

As soon as Oracle ends the call he turns back to Drake, who is still lying on the ground, pawing at Damian’s knees and boots, grabbing onto anything he can reach. It’s discomforting to see him act so… _familiar_ with Damian. He has never seen the man acting so unrestrained.

He reaches inside his first-aid kit and selects the pollen antidote. He balances it on his thigh while he uses his clean gloved hand to undo Drake’s belt to pull his pants down enough so he can inject the antidote into the meaty part of his gluteus. He makes the mistake of letting go of the hem, and he catches sight of Drake’s erect penis as his hips refuse to cease their annoying wriggling.

He yanks the pants back up Drake’s slim hips, belting the suit closed again, but the damage is done. He swallows and fights down the urge to touch his face and contaminate himself as well. This is madness. He needs to get a hold of himself.

“Red Robin,” he snaps. “Pull yourself together!”

Drake whole body jerks and curls up like a kicked puppy, and he _whines_. "Go away," he whimpers as he pulls his arm back to wrap it around his middle as he squirms on the ground. "Don't touch me!"

Watching the terrified, possibly delirious young man Damian wishes he could take it back, to have called out to Drake in a softer tone, but what’s done is done. It’s not like he'd been doing any better for years.

“Red Robin,” he tries again, milder, as he puts a gentle hand on an armoured shoulder, “ _please_ pull yourself together. We have to take you to safety."

Drake stares up at him and whimpers. “Baby bat?”

Damian sighs out in sheer relief. “ _Codenames_. Can you stand it until we get to your Nest?”

His voice is terribly small as he replies “I will try?“ He whimpers and squirms on the ground. “I don't want to do something horrible,” he adds.

Whether the something horrible is an act against Damian's person, or just... Damian's person, he doesn't say.

Damian squeezes the man's shoulder in what he hopes is in a reassuring manner, for when Grayson does it to him, it works. “Should you require it, I will stop you," he wows. He is gratified to see the man nod. He stows away the water sample, pulls Drake up by his arm and props him up as he tries to drag him over to the red bike sticking out of the bushes.

Drake is unfortunately a lost cause.

When he isn’t trying to curl into Damian and trip them both with his clinginess or climb him like a jungle gym, he tries to nuzzle against Damian, attempting to spread the pollen still stuck on his face. Damian hasn’t had the displeasure to experience Poison Ivy’s spores personally, and he is no expert on it either, but he thinks the antidote might not be working this time. Therefore he has to spends twice as much time fighting an overly-friendly Drake off, lest be pollinated himself as well.

He takes a moment to locate his wet wipes in his pouch and tries to clean Drake’s face, the contaminated areas of his suit and his own gloves before he begins the arduous work of peeling Drake’s bike out of the offensive vegetation. He hopes Drake wasn’t stupid enough to ram their only means of transportation and cause irreparable damage, hoping against hope it was Ivy’s remaining rouge plantlife that decided to be a little too welcoming.

It is not easy work to yank the heavy beast out, especially when he does not dare snapping any branches, lest he upsets the plants and gets a face full of pollen with nobody to help him. He curses Drake’s bike, he curses the foliage and he curses his own rebellious libido that has him firming up in his uncomfortable protective cup as Drake rubs up against him from behind, arms twisting sinuously against his middle. A questing hand sliding down to smooth over his cup-covered erection grants him the jolt of adrenaline to finally free the bike.

He mutters a prayer that it starts.

He looks back at Drake, who tries to either headbutt him or kiss him at the attention. He sighs and jerks back. He _promised_. They are about the same height, Damian being between two growth spurts (he hopes he has at least one last growth spurt in him), but he is confident he can probably drive with Drake sitting in front, rather than behind him. The young man’s condition would guarantee a traffic accident were he made to sit behind.

He stands up and pulls Drake up into his arms until the man smiles sensuously, leaning forward with a soft smile that has Damian freezing, staring stupidly up at the man while he wraps his thighs around Damian’s waist. He pushes Drake’s head down onto his shoulder and uses his arms to box the man’s torso in until he can straddle the bike.

He is unspeakably glad when it starts again, and guns it towards Crime Alley.

***

He knows his Father was both proud and a little hurt when he learnt of Drake’s Nest. The perfect hideyhole built after Batman’s example, using the very building Bruce Wayne spent his last happy, carefree hours in.

All of them know the entrance codes, even though Drake changes them daily, and never gives it to them. The times Damian has caught the Red Hood breaking in with food, Grayson to help eating that food, Alfred bringing more food… they have been numerous.

Damian, while aware of the interior, has never visited Drake before. Neither invited, nor uninvited. He did not feel the same closeness the others felt with Drake, for he had ruined all the easy camaraderie they ever could have had during their early years. Sadly, he knows none of his wishing will give him another chance, not since Drake has started treating him with aloof indifference.

Yet now he types in the code to the garage to take them in, parking the red bike and disembarking, attempting to peel an overly friendly Drake off of his body.

He knows there is a decontamination chamber, small enough for one person, perhaps two if they share, but locating it among the detritus is hard. He takes Drake’s questing hands in one of his and marches him forward until he finds the chamber and joins him in there, relaxing minutely to know he doesn’t have to watch out for spray spores anymore, at least.

Drake takes this as invitation to nuzzle into his neck, sobbing broken little "I'm sorry"s, while Damian attempts to analyze the water sample and locate another antidote for Ivy’s spores. He undoes Drake’s pants again to administer Timothy's version of the antidote while he watches the screen printing out the water's contents.

He is relieved when he finds that there is no contaminant nor poison to be found.

He hurriedly pulls the man's pants closed again when it starts slipping, feeling his mind break a little at all the pale skin that peeks out at him. Drake is vulnerable, but not by choice. Damian should...

 _No._ First the case.

“Are you still there, Oracle?”

“Come in, Robin, I’m listening!”

“The Reservoir has not been poisoned. The sample is clear.”

“Thank you, I’ll relay the information. Anything else?”

Damian pulls back Drake’s cowl to stare into his glazed eyes. He sees no change. He curses.

“That doesn’t sound too good,” comes the tinny voice through his earpiece.

“I have administered two antidotes to the pollen, one of mine and one of his, but neither one has worked so far. It might be a new strain.”

He hears Gordon blow out a breath. “There is still the old and tested way,” she offers eventually.

He hesitates. He feels as Drake’s warm body rubs against his back, particularly against his backside, but he knows it’s not the _real_ Drake. Not his real feelings. He couldn’t do that to Timothy. (Oh, but he _could_. In a heartbeat. But he _shouldn't_.)

“I’m certain RR would not be happy with it,” he tells Oracle. “Is there anybody else… available?”

He can hear typing in the background, before Gordon’s voice sounds again. “Negative. I’m afraid it is up to you.”

He shivers as Drake’s fingers trail against the crease of his hips and down between his thighs.

“I’m turning my communicator off,” he tells Gordon, and does just that, pulling it out of his ear and dropping it carelessly among the detritus on Drake's workbench.

He turns to Drake. He hopes against hope there is still a spark of the man left, so that he could absolve Damian of what is about to happen. For what he is willing… _eager_ to do.

He, grabs Timothy’s face between his gauntleted hands and forces to meet his eyes, fixes the man with his most earnest stare, for he is. He is completely earnest, with his heart in his throat.

“Drake. _Timothy_ … I'm afraid there is no other option. Will you let me ease your suffering? Would you trust me with your body?” he wants to go on. He wants to tell Timothy how he would be kind and gentle. How he wouldn’t want anything else more but to give him pleasure, but doesn’t dare. Not now.

The man blinks up at him, and Damian thinks maybe he is already lost, until he licks his lips and nods. He is almost shy when he leans down to rub his face against Damian’s to whisper in his ear a soft, shaky “ _please_ , baby bat.”

And Damian is just _gone_.

He picks up Drake, cradles his squirming body close against his chest, and _sprints_ up with him until they reach his living quarters. Damian carries him to his bedroom, depositing the young man gently… if only he would let go.

“Timothy,” he begs the man who keeps clinging against his suit, taking fistfuls of his cape and whining desperately against being let go. “Please release me for just as long as I may disrobe us both. I promise I shall not abandon you. You have my solemn promise.”

He is free in the next second, though Drake looks at him with tears in his eyes, biting his lips, his hands clenched together, probably to stop himself from reaching out. Damian tugs his suit off haphazardly, uncaring of rips and snapped shoelaces, dropping each piece wherever it may land, falling on Timothy to help him out of his clothes, too. He is painfully erect, has been since Timothy first laid his hand on his penis through layers of Kevlar, and he tries to not get kicked in the balls when the man tries to help shuck his suit faster with uncoordinated movements. It really doesn’t help, has Timothy in tears of frustration and possibly pain, but eventually they do get him naked as well.

He pulls back and sits on his haunches, just for a moment, to take in the sight that is Drake in his bed, staring up at Damian with a _hungry_ look in his eyes. He wants to keep it in his memory for as long as possible, for this might be the only time Drake lets him this close to him, ever.

Then he leans down and kisses Timothy, soft and gentle while the man rubs his leaking cock against his abdomen. Because he is hurting. Because he trusted Damian to help him through this and he is _dawdling_ to satisfy his _fantasies_. Truly, Damian is a _monster_.

He feels chastised as he leans over the bed to find his stowed lube packets, opening one and squeezing a generous amount onto his fingers. He knows how to prepare the anus, he has watched and read enough informative materials on the subject, therefore he spreads Timothy’s lovely pale legs and uses a finger to rub against his hole until he can push it in carefully. He listens to the young man’s wails and soft, wordless please as he gently nudges a second finger in, trying to spread the passage enough for his entry.

Timothy claws at his skin and tries pulling him down and inside him, wailing wordlessly, but Damian is unwilling to harm his older brother. He waits until the man’s twitching anus can accommodate four of his fingers before he pulls out to slick his erection up.

He pulls Drake further down the bed, spreading his legs apart on the rumpled sheets as far as they would go (and they go pretty far, having been trained by Dick Grayson), and then, with a shaking hand he takes hold of his erection.

His heart is beating out of his chest, as if he were the one affected by the pollen and not Timothy, as he lines up the head of his erection for entry. He flashes one last, awestruck look at the older man before he bears down until the head pops inside and he slides into Timothy’s slick, quivering passage.

It's heaven. He could never have imagined the tightness, the feeling of those strong, beloved arms pulling him down and in against his muscled chest, Timothy's broken voice calling him "sweet baby bat" as he is enveloped and _swallowed whole_. He means to wait then, to let each of them adjust, but Timothy surges up, taking his choice away as he winds his lovely, corded, creamy thighs around Damian and _fucks himself on his cock_.

He clenches his hands so hard his nails bite into his flesh, but he can’t. He can’t look away from Timothy as he uses Damian’s body to sate his need, as he throws his head back to offer his long, pale neck for kissing and biting, for any mark Damian might bestow on it, and he latches on, mouthing the corded muscles under miles of scarred porcelain skin as he fucks his hips into the man underneath him, kissing, biting and _worshiping_ any part of Timothy's body he can reach.

He comes first, for he is untried and inexperienced, but he pulls out and offers his fingers instead for Timothy to ride and reach his own completion. He buries his other hand in the man’s silky black locks and leans down for a kiss, hopes he is allowed this one concession.

His tongue is sucked in as his own mouth is plundered, not unlike he plundered Timothy's passage moments ago.

Timothy doesn’t last long. His head rolls back, breaking their kiss, and he sobs through his release as his ravaged hole clenches down around Damian’s fingers, body bowing as his muscles strain up before he falls back onto the rumpled sheets, spent and thoroughly debauched.

Damian pulls back then, his heart overflowing with emotion as he looks at the prone, utterly despoiled man, just takes in the sight as Timothy breathes shallowly. He looks like the filthiest of art with his dark hair spread around him like a halo, his lovely long neck red and raw, bearing Damian’s teeth marks and kisses, dark lashes wet with tears as he simply lies there with his eyes closed, while his cock rises back up determinedly.

Damian leans over to smooth a finger against a blushing cheek and coax those bright blue eyes open. "Are you ready for more, Timothy?"

A red tongue wets those pink lips Damian can still taste and he yearns to kiss them and the man below him again. But not now. Not yet, not until Timothy is too distracted to protest the act.

"Yes," Timothy whispers, and his cheeks darken right before Damian's astonished gaze. "More, please!"

Damian is still spent, so he feeds his fingers back inside Timothy’s eager passage, and he starts thrusting three of them into the young man gently, while his other hand finds a nipple and plays with it. He knows not all men are sensitive there, but according to the silicone coverings in Timothy’s suit schematics, he is.

Damian has spent many nights jerking his cock in his bed off to that information, to the thoughts of Timothy’s sensitive nipples. And now he has the chance to touch them, to feel them, to play with them. _To taste them_.

He leans over the young man and sucks one of the rosy nubs in, and revels in the heartfelt groan as he worries it gently, while his fingers fuck inside Timothy’s silken heat relentlessly.

He is barely rising when he switches nipples, sucking the neglected little nub into his mouth hungrily and licks over it when he feels Timothy’s anus clenching down over his fingers, and Timothy's warm spend sprays against his stomach.

He mouths the nipple a little more, worries it with his teeth carefully as his calloused fingers play with its twin, reveling in being able to _touch_. He feels starved, starved for Timothy. His body, his skin, his _everything_. He looks down towards the young man's hips, hoping he finds him hard again, for he yearns to push his straining shaft inside that dark heat again.

He grasps the man’s half-hard penis, rubs it to fully erect state in seconds. Without asking for permission he slides back up inside Timothy, grabbing his hips to be able to thrust harder, rolling his hips as he curls over him, yanking him down onto every thrust. He can’t stop himself. He knows he is on borrowed time now, and that makes him yearn for more, more and always more.

He wishes he could join Timothy in his bed every night and every day, kiss his pink lips as he smiles up at Damian, play with his sensitive, red nipples. He wishes, oh, how he wishes that Timothy would want him as much as he wants him, that he would kiss him sweetly and smile up at him with love shining bright from his lovely blue eyes. For Damian could not love him more, but if he tried, surely his heart would overflow with excess.

He takes a hand off those slender hips and uses it to tilt the man’s face up, to stare into those deep blue eyes as he comes deep inside Timothy's willing, eager body. He revels in the sight of Timothy's eyelids fluttering shut in pleasure, as he rides Damian's still spurting erection and shudders as he finds his own release from it.

Damian sobs as his oversensitive penis is wrung out by Timothy's wanton passage. He buries his head into the silken black locks and smooths his face against the alabaster neck, weeping, as he is milked and drained of all he has to offer and more.

They lay there, for he is unable to dismount. He thinks he might be spent, even with such an impossible, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity in his lap. (Or impaled still on his penis.)

He whimpers and moans and groans and sobs when Timothy begins pumping his hips on his spent cock. He wriggles down and out of those arms, taking the unhappy mewl as his due as he slides down the young man's body until he is in level with his red erection. He pulls the corner of the sheet to soak up most of Timothy's spend before he grabs the bobbing member and swallows it.

He chokes and has to pull off, gulping in air. Truly, he thought it would be much easier. Those people in his educational videos made it look so easy...

He feels fingers combing his hair back, and he looks up be enveloped by Timothy's warm smile.

"It takes a bit of getting used to. I'm fine with just fingers, baby bat."

Damian dutifully reinserts three of his fingers, for he has (like an imbecile) forgot he had that option as well, before he tries taking Timothy's erection down his throat again.

He chokes. _Again_.

Warm fingers tilt his head up, and he marvels at Timothy's face as he shivers intermittently from pleasure. "If you are that determined, take only a little part of it into your mouth. If you suck only the head and use your fingers on the base, it still feels really good. Nobody can just swallow it down to the root without gaining some experience first."

Damian smiles up at him before he does just that, following Timothy's expert instructions. He doesn't choke. He tries licking the head, which sounds to be something Timothy really likes, and he uses his other hand to pump from base to his mouth and back down, once, twice, until he feels fingers tugging on his hair. He is pulled off, feeling bewildered and horrified he hurt his Beloved before his face is sprayed with Timothy's emissions.

He freezes, caught utterly by surprise. Strong hands pull him up, until he is cradled in Timothy's arms, curled against his body, face wiped with the corner of the sheet before he is _kissed_. He thought their first kiss was perfect, the height of his experiences, but he was wrong. Timothy kisses him like he is ravenous for it, like Damian's mouth is worthy to plunder and stake claim to. He is lost then, forever lost for he knows nobody would be as perfect, as wonderful as his Beloved is, and he weeps from pleasure and sorrow, for surely he would not be able to find anybody who could ever live up to this.

"Thank you, baby bat, that was.. uh... you really didn't have to go that far," his Beloved tells him, and he hides his face in shame.

"You needed assistance and I was the only one who could offer it."

Those maddening fingers curl around his jaw and coax him back to face the young man. He is still smiling, face tired and open, but his eyes are serious. "And you offered exceptional assistance, baby bat. You went over and beyond what was expected from you and for that I am truly grateful."

Damian clears his throat. he knows this is the moment they go back to acquaintances at best, to Timothy politely ignoring him and Damian _wishing_...

"Timothy," he starts, trying to say something, anything his tired brain could muster to utilize this wonderful accident to bring them closer together, when he feels their erections rub together. He stares wordlessly at his Beloved, hoping.

"Oh," Timothy's eyes widen before he chuckles. "How would you feel about another round, baby bat?"

Damian smiles back at him shyly. "I would like that very much, Timothy."

Damian feels a little self-conscious with Timothy fully self-aware and looking back at him, as they start rubbing against each other, but he soon forgets about it as one arm works between them and cups their erections together, rubbing them until Damian is in a frenzy, until he begs "sweet, beautiful Timothy", damning words pouring out of his lips unbidden. He pleads and praises the young man with a litany of words he never intended to say until he comes, collapsing against him in a boneless heap.

It takes Timothy a few more thrusts until he spends his essence, coating both of their stomachs.

Damian remains as he is, head resting on Timothy's left pectoral, unable (and unwilling) to face him. They catch their breath in silence, until their breath evens out. Until Damian thinks the young man may have fallen asleep after such rigorous activities and chances a sneaky glance up, and gets caught by curious blue eyes instead.

"I'm truly grateful to you, Damian, and I'm wholly prepared to be proven absolutely wrong about this, but... I felt maybe you were not opposed to help me?"

Damian is stupidly grateful his Beloved is so tactful, that he is allowed to just nod.

The young man smiles at him then. It is but a small thing, barely a curl of his lips, but for Damian it is the ray of hope he never dared to dream of.

"Yeah, thought so. It's not new, is it?"

Damian shakes his head, feels as his face burns up and he buries it against Timothy's smooth skin.

"Hey, no. None of that, baby bat, I'm not mad."

He feels a hesitant touch as fingers comb through his rat's nest of a hair, and he peeks up again, meets those smiling eyes.

"There you are. You were so good to me, baby bat, so pretty, too. I saw you trying to be nice to me for a while, but I wasn't sure it wasn't a trap, you know. But now I do. Do you want to be friends, Damian? Is that what you want?"

He shakes his head vehemently. He sees as his Beloved's eyes widen, and the fingers still and pull back out of his hair.

"I would be honoured, to be your friend, Timothy," he speaks, for he was gravely misunderstood. "But I wish... I _hope_... that perhaps with time you might grow to care for me not as a friend but something more."

His Beloved sighs then, and Damian turns away, defeated.

"Bruce will _kill_ me. Or _worse_ , give Jason more guns to hunt me down."

Damian surges up to kiss him then, almost knocking Timothy's teeth out in his haste, but then they are kissing, frenzied until Timothy gentles him, cupping the back of his head with his lovely, clever hand and stroking the other one down his back until Damian is nothing but sensitive nerve endings in his Beloved's arms.

"I will protect you," he vows. "Nobody will _ever_ touch you as long as I live, Beloved!"

Timothy's voice comes from far away as he yelps a horrified "wait _what?!_ "


End file.
